


First Impressions

by courageandcheer



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Courferre Week, M/M, broke into wrong apartment au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:43:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courageandcheer/pseuds/courageandcheer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Grantaire counted the number of windows from the eastern-most side of the building to the west side. He counted again to check. There was no mistaking it.... Well, it wasn't the worst thing he’d ever done." </p><p>Or, Courfeyrac breaks into the wrong person's apartment by accident after a night drinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

“Dude, are you sure you’re gonna make it?” Grantaire raised a single eyebrow and watched Courfeyrac sway on his feet. 

Courfeyrac grasped the ladder of the fire escape, the cold of the metal sending a jolt through his palm. The sensation snaked up to his elbow and then dissipated. He tilted his head back and was temporarily distracted by the cool raindrops falling on his flushed cheeks as he gazed upward. He returned his head to its normal position. He only remembered what he had been looking for as soon as his eyes refocused on Grantaire.  
  
 _Right. Looking for the window_ , he thought.

“It’s only two stories, right?” Courfeyrac said. He squinted, attempting to get a better look at the apartment building through the sheets of rain. “Enjolras lives, like, in the middle, right?”  
  
Grantaire considered Courfeyrac for a moment, amazed at the fact that he had not ended up the most shitfaced of the two for once.  “Why the fuck are you asking me? It’s not like I’ve ever been up there,” Grantaire shot back.

“Riiiiight,” Courfeyrac replied. He started laughing. He cupped his palm over his mouth in an attempt to quell his laughter but was mostly unsuccessful. “Sure you haven’t,” he managed. It was the funniest thing in the entire world. He had to tell Joly about it. He’d get it.

Grantaire observed as Courfeyrac patted the pockets of his jeans. It took a few seconds, but he managed to produce his phone.    
  
“Oh no you don’t." Grantaire fished the cell phone out of Courfeyrac’s hands for safekeeping. "Remember the last time you tried drunk texting?” 

“What? No,” Courfeyrac pouted. He needed to tell Joly, needed to tell Joly. Needed to tell Joly what, exactly?

“Trust me, it’s best that you don’t remember. I think you scarred poor Marius for life,” Grantaire said. “Now, go on,” he indicated the fire escape with a tilt of his head. “Get up there. We both know you’re only minutes away from collapsing.”

Grantaire watched as Courfeyrac gripped both sides of the ladder. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was telling him that he shouldn’t be allowing his drunk friend to be attempting an activity that required the use of his compromised coordination and motor skills. But no one would ever call him the responsible one.  
  
Besides, he’d get an earful if he were to call up to Enjolras’ apartment at this hour of the night and ask for him to buzz Courfeyrac in through the front door. And anyway, Enjolras should be used to this by now. He’d know how to sort Courfeyrac out, if he ever made it to his window, that is.

“Am I almost there?” Courfeyrac called down, his voice sounding weary already.

“You’ve gone approximately seven rungs,” Grantaire replied. He dragged his feet, which might as well have been bricks judging by how heavy they felt, over to the ladder. The gravel crunched under the soles of his converse. When he was near enough, he reached up and tapped the heel of Courfeyrac’s shoes in encouragement. “Keep going.”

As soon as Courfeyrac’s shoes were out of sight, Grantaire backed up and watched as his friend crawled on his hands and knees on the fire escape to the middle apartment on the second floor. He squinted as he watched Courfeyrac ease the window open. He couldn’t suppress a snicker at the little groan of exertion that wafted down to him. Courfeyrac shot him a thumbs up as soon as he managed to wrestle the window shut again.

The muscle in Grantaire’s jaw relaxed. He counted the number of windows from the eastern-most side of the building to the west side. He counted again to check. There was no mistaking it.

 _Well, he’ll figure it out in the morning,_ Grantaire thought with a shrug. It wasn't the worst thing he’d ever done.

Grantaire pulled up the hood of his jacket and burrowed his chapped hands deep into the folds of his pockets. He wished he could be in the apartment whenever its inhabitant discovered their new house guest hung-over on the couch first thing in the morning. He laughed and picked up his pace as he made his way down the street perpendicular to Enjolras' apartment building.  
  
 _Happy new year, stranger._

* * *

Courfeyrac stumbled in the apartment. He kicked his shoes off near the window, at least having enough remaining decency to not to want to track rain through the apartment. He poised his hands in front of him to help him navigate potential obstacles. A few seconds later, the edge of the counter-top jabbed painfully into his hip.

“Fucking Christ,” he muttered, edging away from it. His hands brushed against a single-door refrigerator that felt almost like stainless steel.

 _The bastard upgraded and didn’t even tell me_ , Courfeyrac thought as he tip-toed past it.

Even in his socks, he could detect the change in the flooring. It transitioned from slippery tile to the carpet he was so used to, which only meant one thing: the couch wasn’t much further. His hands brushed against the back of the couch, running over the cushions. They came back empty of the usual blankets draped over its edge.

Courfeyrac was beyond the point of caring. He peeled his jacket off and only had enough energy left to drape it over the arm of the sofa. He collapsed on the couch and sank into the cushions. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness, floating in a hazy, half-alert state after the initial effects of the alcohol wore off. He watched the patterns forming on the ceiling from the cars on the road below, which occasionally threw the shapes in the drywall into sharp relief.

At one point, a cat leaped onto the couch and curled up on his chest. The purring was enough to lull him to sleep. When did Enjolras adopt a cat? He wouldn’t have adopted a cat without telling the others about it, would he?

Courfeyrac awoke again to the sound of a door slamming shut. He blinked slowly, willing the world to come back into focus. The furniture in the apartment materialized simultaneously with a throbbing ache in the center of his forehead.

He cast his gaze around the apartment, or perhaps, _lack_ of apartment might be a better description. There were several bookshelves jammed within rectangular room, and their shelves had reached maximum occupancy. Books were also scattered on the end tables and on the coffee table in front of them.

It took a grand total of ten more seconds for it to dawn on him. _This is not Enjolras’ apartment._

Courfeyrac shot straight up and instantly regretted it. The blood rushed to his head and he had to place both of his hands on the cushion of the couch to steady himself. He gazed down at the leather cushions beneath his fingertips, which should have been his first clue.

 _Maybe if I just get out before anyone wakes up…_ Courfeyrac thought, the cogs in his brain turning abnormally slowly. He scooted off the couch and grabbed his coat from where he'd discarded it.

He hastened back into the kitchen, assuredly not Enjolras’ kitchen due to the sheer number of anatomy textbooks stacked on the counters. His shoes were nowhere near the window. He sifted through the events of last night, even though it was all a little hazy. Had he even been wearing shoes when he came in?

The sound of a knob turning somewhere behind him caused his heart rate to shoot through the roof.

 _Fuck the shoes, fuck the shoes, fuck the shoes._  
  
He fumbled with the window, his fingertips unresponsive. He suppressed a cry as his finger slipped off the edge again. He heard the tread of footsteps approaching the kitchen and then halt. Silence hung heavily in the air.

He froze. A flood of curse words sounded in his head. Maybe one of the gods would be kind enough to strike him dead on the spot.

“Leaving so soon?” the voice asked behind him.

Courfeyrac abandoned the task in front of him. He covered his eyes with his hands and rotated slowly. He peeked through the gaps in his fingers, praying to every god he knew that the person would not cock a shotgun as he turned around.

But it was worse than anything Courfeyrac could ever have imagined.

“Oh my _god_ ,” he squeaked. He could feel the blush warming his cheeks. “This has been a-a terrible mistake and it won’t happen again. But I can explain!”

The man leaned against the drywall arch separating the kitchen and the living room, his arms crossed. “Go ahead. I’m intrigued.”

“Well,” Courfeyrac said as he finally lowered his hands. He figured the truth was the best way to go with this one. “I was out drinking until god knows when last night and I always go to my friend’s apartment when I’m too drunk to make it back to my own. His name’s Enjolras? Maybe you’ve heard of him?” The cadence of Coufeyrac’s voice rose was steadily approaching the range that only dogs could hear. “I thought it was kind of weird when the cat jumped on me last night, but I just figured that Enjolras got one without telling me. I mean, he doesn’t need my approval! That’s not what I’m insinuating.”

Courfeyrac couldn’t go on. It was all too much. The man was only wearing blue and white striped pajama bottoms and a plain white shirt and it was really distracting. His hair was still disheveled from sleep and he had a bright red crease across his right cheek where he must have been pressed against his pillow. His glasses were slightly crooked across his nose. But the tattoos snaking around his forearms were the worst. The situation was rapidly deteriorating.

“Ah,” the man said with a grave nod. “I regret to inform you that your friend lives one apartment to the right.”

“So close and yet so far,” Courfeyrac said dejectedly. He almost missed the revelation. “Wait, you know him?”

“I do,” the man replied. “We have a philosophy course together at the moment.”

Courfeyrac squinted, concentrating on the man’s appearance and all the books scattered around the apartment. He shuffled through the names of the people Enjolras had mentioned recently like he was examining a deck of cards. “The med student,” he said finally.

“What was your first clue?” the man said, casting his gaze around the kitchen. “It couldn’t have been the anatomy textbooks, could it?”

“Funny. You're funny,” Courfeyrac acknowledged. He was trying to buy time because he couldn’t quite remember the name that Enjolras had used. It started with a C, but he couldn’t produce it.

“So, you seem pretty cool about me breaking into your apartment and, like, spending the night on your couch and all.” Courfeyrac gestured at the window, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “You should probably lock that.”

He shrugged. "It was an honest mistake. The real question is how did you manage to climb up the fire escape, as drunk as you were?”

“I’ve been known to do incredible feats while under the influence,” Courfeyrac replied, his chest puffing out at the compliment. “I was able to hold a one-arm handstand for about fifteen seconds after quite a few shots of tequila.”

“Yeah?” The other man didn’t seem to buy it. He seemed amused, but Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if it was only his perception. “By the way, you’ve been in my apartment for hours now and you haven’t even told me your name.”

“Courfeyrac.”

“Hm. Enjolras hasn't mentioned an attractive friend before,” the man said. “Combeferre, by the way.”

“Okay, but what about a funny friend?” Courfeyrac prompted. “Charismatic? Outgoing? Larger than life personality? Wait, attractive?”

Combeferre swatted the empty air in front of him as if he was brushing away the comment. “Well, any friend of Enjolras’ is a friend of mine. I’d say you chose the right apartment to break into. The little old lady next door might not have been as forgiving.”

A strangled laugh escaped from Courfeyrac’s mouth before he had the chance to clamp it shut. Combeferre raised his eyebrows, evidently waiting for something.

“Oh, right. I’ll just be going now…” Courfeyrac said. He half-turned toward the window but froze at the sound of Combeferre’s amused laughter.

“You can use the front door this time,” he said, moving away. His back was still to Courfeyrac as he returned to what Courfeyrac assumed was the bedroom. He raised the back of his hand in farewell. On his way out, he collected his shoes from where they had been sitting on the vent by the front door. Either he had spectacular aim when he came in, or they'd been moved. 

It wasn’t until he was knocking on Enjolras’ door, his shoes tucked under one arm, that he remembered that he'd set them by the window. But Enjolras was already opening the door, peering into the hallway lit up with shoddy fluorescent bulbs. He frowned and sheltered his eyes with his hands. His t-shirt was two sizes too big and his hair fell halfway out of its ponytail and spilled over his shoulders.

“Why didn’t you tell me your neighbor was so cute?” Courfeyrac whined. “I feel like that was really unfair of you.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Enjolras slammed the door shut.

“Hey!"

The lock turned and Courfeyrac was left in the hallway in complete silence. He knocked on the door a few more times, even though he knew it was futile.   
  
From behind him, he heard, “You could always stay for breakfast, if you want. I’m going to make eggs.”

He spun around and caught sight of Combeferre’s head poking out of his own apartment. 

Courfeyrac raised his hands to the heavens for the sheer amount of luck that had come his way today. Courfeyrac hit Enjolras’ door once more with his fist for good measure, painfully aware that if he hadn’t been shut out, this invitation never would have happened. 

He angled away from Combeferre for a second so that he could cup his hand over his mouth. He conducted an impromptu breath check and grimaced at the smell. He figured that he’d made far worse first impressions in his life, including the one that had happened about ten minutes ago.

When he returned, Combeferre was still standing in the doorway, waiting for him.

The door shut behind them with a satisfying click.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading! Come say hi on [tumblr](http://combeferree.tumblr.com/) if you wish. :)


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